


My Pet Mortal

by Dillian



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Bisexual Loki (Marvel), F/M, M/M, Master/Pet, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pet Tony, Pet-play, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Pre-Thor: Ragnarok (2017)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-03-06 11:42:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13410534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dillian/pseuds/Dillian
Summary: This is a story about how Loki amused himself while he was pretending to be Odin, in the lead-up toThor: Ragnarok.  More details to be added here, as I explore just how he's using a certain genius-billionaire for his entertainment.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “ **Iago** : ‘And then we drop papa-in-law and  
> the little woman off a cliff!’ *dive-bombs into the  
> floor* ‘Kersplat!’  
>  **Jafar** : ‘Iago, I love the way your foul little mind works!’  
>  **Both** : *evil laughter*”  
> \-- Disney’s Aladdin (1992)

**_The Avengers_ , _Iron Man_ , _Thor_ , and _Captain America_ , and all situations and characters thereof, belong strictly and solely to Marvel Comics.  This is a fan-work, meant for enjoyment only, and not for any material profit.**

At first, it was fun just being “Odin.”  Loki loved the performance, it was delightful, just giving Old One-Eye a little extra waggle to his step, having his gaze stray toward this serving-boy or that one, giving just the right secret little smile, and the roll of the eyes.  His robes:  Loki-Odin takes huge care of his robes.  And, the performances?  The statue of “Poor, Dead Loki,” that he caused to be built prominently, in the most visible part of the city?  How funny when people laugh up their sleeves about this display or that one.  What a delight to see the mockery put where it belongs for once, right at the feet of the biggest faker Asgard’s ever known.

After awhile, it palls.  “Odin” starts actually taking the serving-men that go by.  And the serving-girls.  That suffices for a time to amuse him, then there comes a day when it’s not enough either.

What to do, what to do?  “What does one get for the Pretend All-Father who has everything?” Loki mutters to himself, using the Midgardian vernacular he picked up during the Battle of New York, that is so much more expressive than High Asgardian language.

The serving-men give him the idea, or one serving-man, I should say.  One man, slightly shorter than the others, but well-muscled.  One man, with a neatly clipped beard, and hair shorter than most Aesir men wear theirs.  One man…  At first Loki doesn’t even understand the source of the attraction, he just knows this man appeals more than the others, and then it hits him.

A flashback:  The mortal home was simpler in its decoration than homes are in Asgard.  Clean lines, neutral colors, windows that stretched floor-to-ceiling, and a man standing in front of those windows.  A man:  He spoke with impudent presumption.  He told Loki the invasion was going to fail, which Loki already knew, in fact, he was planning on it.  The man spoke to him as though they were equals, and he ...almost looked the part (unfortunate that he was a mere mortal), and he was…

Actually, that squat, muscular look is not much to Loki’s taste.  Tan skin, an ugly shirt and biceps?  No thank you.  When Loki goes with men he normally seeks out blonds, taller than him, their golden hair waving free, halfway down their backs (do _not_ try to read anything into this).  Normally, he wouldn’t look twice at a little man, but something about Stark interested him.  His presumption, maybe?

Loki thinks about Court Jesters, little men, possibly with physical impairment, given leave to speak freely to their betters.  He thinks about parrots, fast-talking and foul-mouthed.  A smile quirks his lips for the first time in a long time.  Imagine Stark, bright-plumaged, and perched on his shoulder:  How funny would that be?

__________________________

Down on Earth, a genius-billionaire is facing his limitations.  Money?  Intelligence?  What good are they, in fact, don’t they just help him to hurt people all the more?  Without his money, and his brains, would there have been a being like Ultron?  Isn’t he, Tony Stark, responsible for the tragedy of Sovokia?

There is a device:  Later on he’s going to show it to students at his alma mater.  He calls it the B.A.R.F., because Tony’s not good at acronyms.  Somewhere along the line, he makes a projection for the kids to see.  It’s fairly anodyne, a simple thing where the man who lost his father young, regrets that he never said good-bye.  What he mostly uses the thing for is to retrace the steps that led up to Ultron and Sovokia.  Over and over:  Where did it start?  Was it that image the Scarlet Witch showed him of his friends dying?  But that shouldn’t have been enough.  It was his overinflated ego, his goddamn rich-boy’s assurance that Tony Stark can always do whatever he damn well pleases, and everyone else has to trust in _his_ good intentions.

This is why Pepper moves out.  “Tony, I can’t take it anymore,” she says.  “You’ve changed, you’re different, I don’t know.”

He says hurtful things.  Selfish.  Impatient.  “I’m going through some things right now,” he says, “I need you to stay, Pepper, and help me get through it.”

She doesn’t tell him she’s been cleaning up his messes for him ever since they met, that she’s a girlfriend, not a maid.  She doesn’t tell him what she knows, that he’s being the Spoiled Rich Kid again, always expecting everybody to do everything his way.  She just packs up her stuff.  One day he’s out getting food, after an especially long session in his workroom, and he comes home and all her things are gone.

He calls.  More words of blame and reproachment:  “Why didn’t you just _tell_ me?”  She doesn’t answer, but her sigh speaks louder than words.  She’s only tried to tell him about a jillion times, but he wouldn’t listen.

Here’s Tony at home, now.  He’s in his workroom as usual.  He’s trying to pretend that work is enough for him, which it’s not, but as long as he keeps at it, he doesn’t feel anything, and feeling things is worse.  This is the moment when Loki shows up.  I’ll get to that part next.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don't want a bunny or a kitty,  
> I don't want a parrot that talks.  
> I don't want a bowl of little fishies,  
> You can't take a goldfish for walks.
> 
> How much is that doggie in the window?  
> The one with the waggly tail  
> How much is that doggie in the window?  
> I do hope that doggie's for sale.”  
> \-- Patti Page, “That Doggie in the Window”

What wakes Tony up is the noise.  It shouldn’t be there.  He struggles upright, and…  Oh shit, speaking of  _ shouldn’t be there _ ?  He’s gone to sleep in his workroom again, fuck., no wonder his back’s starting to hurt.

Tony sits up and looks around.  That’s definitely an alarm he hears.  An intruder?  Shouldn’t the suits have neutralized whoever it is?  Why even have a perimeter-defense system if it doesn’t, you know, defend your perimeter?  His perimeter has definitely been breached.

Out of the workroom, and up the stairs.  There’s another noise too, what is it?  Like a voice-ish, almost a screaming sound,,,

He gets to the top of the stairs, and he makes out what it is.  It’s yelling.  Then he turns a corner out of the stairwell, and he can see who’s yelling.  ...Pepper?  She’s come back?

Genius-billionaires who have just been woken out of a sound sleep by their perimeter-defense alarms going off don’t always think so clearly.  It literally takes him like five minutes to piece the situation together:  There’s Pepper.  She’s yelling.  There are all the suits, attacking her in waves, even though they’re supposed to recognize her, and there are all his defense alarms, screaming, and blatting, making his poor hungover head feel like it’s going to fall right off of his under-exercised body.  What the literal  _ hell _ is going on?

“Tony,  _ make these robots go away _ .”  Pepper’s voice.  Pepper’s beautiful blue eyes, narrowed in anger.  Her gorgeous mouth, making the preemptory words, her beautiful, kissable mouth…

Dumb?  Yeah.  This is why we need AI protecting us, see, is because AI are impartial.  If something’s not right, they know it’s not right, and they do something about it, whereas humans get distracted by surface appearances.

Such as an enemy, disguised as your girlfriend… ex-girlfriend… but not ex for long…

This is how Tony’s thought-pattern goes.  He’s facing what could be death here, but where’s his mind?  Pepper.  This wastes valuable seconds, and meanwhile, the perimeter defenses still haven’t neutralized the intruder, who’s just standing there yelling at him.

“Tony, your machines are attacking me, Tony, make them stop.”  Miss Bossy-Boots.  Pepper always was bossy, which is so adorable of her.  Anyway, Tony needs a boss, lord knows you can’t trust him to do the right thing…   _ He’s getting distracted again _ .

“I’m Potts,” Miss Bossy-Boots says.  “...Pepper, I’m Pepper…  Will you stand down, yo0u godforsaken automata, I am Potts, I’m Pepper, I control you.   _ Kneel before me _ .”

For the record, it’s about the time Loki says “Kneel,” when Tony belatedly realizes he’s facing the Terror of Stuttgart.  For the record also, one bossy Asgardian can easily fight off 20 fully-active Iron-Man suits (too bad the other 67 of them were offline).  It’ll get messy, but he can do it.  He can also, for the record, magic you to his lair so fast that everything’s a blur, Tony sees what’s got to be the Einstein-Rosen bridge go by, then he sees a guy in a helmet, blah-blah Odin, something-something, and then plop, he’s sitting on the ground, in a room with so much gold in it, it looks like Donald Trump’s bedroom.  Also, just by the way?  Those long white fingers of Loki’s  _ hurt _ , when they’re clamped down on your wrist.

“Asgard.”  Tony should be scared, but he’s not.  Something about having seen a guy get rag-dolled by the Hulk sort of removes all your fear of him.  He looks up at Loki with his arms folded.  “You really brought me to Asgard?  What’s your daddy going to say?”

__________________________

To begin with, the capture went all wrong.  Loki was going by his experience in Stuttgart, during the invasion.  He had forgotten that he needed the correct human’s actual eyeball before he could accomplish anything, on that visit.  Apparently mere outward appearance is not enough to fool a mortal security system ( _ unlike his brother _ ).  The annoying machines at his house gave Stark the alarm.  Loki had been planning to slip in very quietly and snatch him away, maybe after a little erotic dalliance first (sex in woman-form is  _ fun _ ).  Intelligence had told him that Stark was mourning the departure of this “Pepper,” and it should have been easy.  If it hadn’t been for those blasted automata.

Loki was cursing Stark’s godforsaken machines all the way through the wormhole, he was cursing them as he crossed the Bifrost, and as he slipped (almost naturally now, after so much practice) back into his Odin-form, so he could speak to Heimdall.

The old gate-keeper looked at him with annoying suspicion.  “A mortal?”  Lips curled in disdain, bespeaking the usual Asgardian disdain for lesser beings.  Presumptuous gate-keeper, would you deny your Lord, the great All-Father, a pet?

“Yes, a mortal, naturally.”  From much practice, the stuffy cadences of Odin’s voice come easily.  

And Heimdall, still suspicious:  “But, could you not have sent someone to fetch it?”

Loki gave an Odinish shout.  “Stop!  Do not presume to question All-Father!”  And Heimdall fell back.

Now, the mortal’s being annoying.  Loki regards him with disapproval.  Look at him, sitting there in the middle of the floor, and pouting like a baby.  Does he not know he is being vouchsafed something mortals almost never get to behold?  He has been given the privilege of viewing Asgard, first, among all the Nine Realms.  That woman Thor brought here was honored at the privilege, you could see it.  Just what is Stark’s problem?

“If you behave like a baby, Stark, then I will treat you like a baby…”  Loki stops.  Some mortals enjoy being treated like babies, do they not?  They derive sexual gratification from it; he would not put it past Stark to be one of that kind.  “I will punish you,” he rephrases himself.

“Oho, so kidnapping me and dragging me up here wasn’t a punishment?” Stark responds with gross ingratitude.  “What was it then, a present?”

Actually, yes, it was.  Loki glares down at his so-ungrateful houseguest.  “You are being granted a privilege few mortals receive.”

“Yeah?”  Stark looks around.  “This is Asgard?  This tacky gold monstrosity?”  He glares up at Loki.  “You destroyed my house, Loki.”

Certain people can’t seem to get past the trivial, can they?  “You won’t need it anymore,” Loki tells him.  “I have decided to let you live here with me.”

The outburst that follows is unsurprising.  It is, in fact, a tantrum, and Loki just stands back and watches.  All new pets take a while to settle in.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I love my little cat, I do, her coat is oh so warm;  
> It comes with me each day to school, and sits upon the form;  
> When teacher says, "Why do you bring that little pet of yours?"  
> I tell her that I bring my cat along with me because:
> 
> Daddy wouldn't buy me a bow-wow! (Bow wow!)  
> Daddy wouldn't buy me a bow-wow! (Bow wow!)  
> I've got a little cat, and I'm very fond of that!  
> But I'd rather have a bow-wow, wow.(Wow, wow, wow.)
> 
> I'll be so glad when I get old to do just as I "likes,"  
> I'll keep a parrot, and at least, a half a dozen tykes;  
> And when I've got a tiny pet I'll kiss the little thing,  
> Then put it in its little cot, and unto it I'll sing:
> 
> Daddy wouldn't buy me a bow-wow! (Bow wow!)  
> Daddy wouldn't buy me a bow-wow! (Bow wow!)  
> I've got a little cat, and I'm very fond of that!  
> But I'd rather have a bow-wow-wow. (Bow-wow-wow!)”  
> \-- Vesta Victoria, “Daddy Wouldn’t Buy Me a Bow-Wow”

It’s hard to know when Tony will give up worrying about the fate of his friends and the Earth in general.  Probably it will be on his deathbed, or later than that even, maybe.  If his worry were given form, it would look like an Iron-Man suit.  Actually it does look like a suit, or like the about eleventy-dozen of the things that he’s always got on high alert, keeping watch over everything.  It’s how he is, he’s a worrier.  Does he ever look back with nostalgia at the days when he was just a spoiled billionaire, who didn’t have to worry about anything?  Maybe, who knows?  Even he probably couldn’t tell you.

He’s here in the private quarters of a guy who tried to kill him, the first time they met, and who would have done it again the second time, and maybe even the third, if he hadn’t been being whomped on by the Hulk at the time.  Nonetheless, does Tony think about himself?  Nope.  All his thoughts are about the others:  What’s Pepper doing?  Is Hap keeping a proper eye over her and making sure she eats?  Pepper always forgets to eat.  Is the Hulk playing nice?  Has Wanda learned to control her powers yet?   _Is anything coming that might destroy the whole planet, because he’s not there to save the day like he usually does?_

This last one is probably going to keep him up, nights.  Or it will unless Loki’s got something worse in mind, that might distract him.  Does it say something about Tony that he would prefer the latter?  Attacks can be defended against, but fears just go on and on forever.

Here’s a picture of what worried billionaires do, when they’re left alone in a super-villain’s private quarters:  Tony inspects the place.  He inspects it very carefully.  From Thor, he’s learned that Asgard is a magical place, and Loki is even more magical than everyone else who lives here.  Everything in this room is probably magical, this table, and that desk over there, and that chamberpot… -- Another portrait of the worried billionaire:  Tony gets a little snerk out of the idea of the magical chamberpot.  “Haha, foul villain, I will attack thee!  With this!”   **SPLASH**.  What would Doctor Strange say? --  ...As I was saying, he inspects the place, very carefully, the magical things, and the non-magical, and just everything, in general.

After that, he looks out the windows.  This is really Asgard?  He’s in a-fucking-nother realm?  Nice to be in one when he’s not carrying an about-to-explode bomb, for a change, this time he doesn’t have to deal death to a lot of innocent people (or whatever the Chitauri were).  This time he gets to explore, or he would, only he has to go home.

Tony’s most persistent fear can be summed up this way:  “If I’m not with them, something bad will happen.”  What kind of bad thing?  Who knows?  Maybe it’ll be a brainwashed cyborg super-soldier, dragging someone he loves from their car and gunning them down in cold blood, or who knows what it’ll be?  It’ll be something though, definitely.  A jillion times going away and coming back, and everything is still perfect, and all the best thoughts of his rational mind, can never put the fear of his to rest.

So, you won’t be surprised to know that Tony is a little edgy.  This feeling persists, while he’s studying everything in the sitting room very carefully, and exploring the bedroom, and staring out the window for hours and hours, looking at all the gold out there, and wondering what it is about Supreme Rulers that always makes them want to gild everything…

He’s also still nervous, in that underlying way, when he makes the obvious joke:  “Is that _gild_ , or _geld_ everything?”  And then he remembers Thor’s story about his brother having turned into a horse one time, Loki knows _gelding_ personally, doesn’t he?  Tony snerks a little more at this, but underneath, he’s still nervous.

Time is going by while he’s doing all these things, and Loki keeps on not returning.  That’s because he’s pretending to be Odin right now, isn’t it?  How weird to think that all the time while Thor went around telling everyone his brother was dead, he was actually here on Asgard, pretending to be their father.  He’s probably making the place over into something like Latveria, that’s what super-villains do.

“Trains running on time,” Tony mutters, “and involuntary servitude, and don’t forget the mandatory Hail Doom rallies.”  Tony has been to Latveria on more than one occasion.  “Fun-fun, well, it’s better than starving to death, I guess…”  Having exhausted the subject, Tony looks around for something else he can inspect, since Loki isn’t back yet.

__________________________

Naturally, Loki lives in Odin’s quarters.  He hates them, they remind him of his mother.   He’s tried illusion-spells:  The only thing more depressing than walking into a room and immediately thinking of your dead mother, is walking in and being reminded of all the efforts you’ve put in to stop yourself from thinking of her.  Half the reason Loki’s brought Tony here in the first place is so that he’ll cheer up the place, and stop him thinking about Frigga all the time.

Nonetheless, when he walks through the door and sees that his pet has moved some things, he is very angry.  Green eyes instantly cold, and a voice dripping icicles:  “You _dare_ …”  He points.  What has Tony moved?  A picture, but it was Mother’s picture, that she always loved, and the pillows, on _her_ side of the bed are disarranged as well.  Tony’s lying there stretched out with every pillow on the bed, stuffed behind his dirty Midgardian back.  He’s got his dirty Midgardian shoes, all over _her_ damask bedspread, and his weight is crumpling it too, no doubt, when it’s meant to be smooth as glass.  “You…”  Words fail him.  “You…”

“Mortal scum?”  Stark’s got the picture in his hands, and he’s looking at it.  “Was that the phrase you were searching for?” he says.  “How about puny Midgardian, try that one on for size.”  He keeps holding Frigga’s picture, getting his dirty Midgardian fingerprints all over the frame.  “Who’s this?” he asks presumptuously.

The portrait is of Odin, when he was younger.  “That is none of your concern.”  Loki reaches, goes to take the picture out of Stark’s hands.

The mortal gives up and hands it back.  “Why do you keep a picture of your brother by your bed anyway, Loki?  I thought you hated him.”  

“I don’t hate him.”   Loki wipers a grease smear from the frame, before he returns the picture to its place, angled just the way Frigga always kept it.  “He hates me,” he adds…  Stark, however, appears not to be listening.

He’s gotten up, leaving the bed in horrible disarray, and he’s staring out the window.  “You’re going to have to send me home, you know.”

Amusing mortal, to think he can dictate to a god.  Loki did well to be patient about the disarray that his pet has made; the adoption is already starting to pay off in entertainment.  “No I’m not,” he says.

“Pfft, yeah, sure,” Stark responds.  “Your brother will come back, he’ll put Mjolnir on you…”

At the thought of Thor daring to put Mjolnir on top of his respected “Father,” Loki bursts out laughing.  This is as good as a circus.

His pet, over by the window, eyes his laughter.  “You mean you don’t uncloak for him either?”  He stops, appears thoughtful for a moment.  “No, I guess you wouldn’t, would you?  Because you hate him.”

“I don’t hate him.”  Loki repeats himself, but it is as if his pet has not heard him.

“You guys really have a weird relationship.”  Stark speaks, as though to himself, rather than to Loki.  “You’re all the time trying to kill each other, but look…”  He points toward the bedside table.  “There’s his portrait, right where you’re sure to see it, first thing in the morning.  What’s that about, Loki?”

What it’s _about_ , is that he doesn’t see that ugly thing (which isn't Thor anyway) first thing in the morning, because, or course, that’s not his side of the bed…  Or, it's not Odin’s, one should correctly say.  “I sleep on the other side of the bed,” Loki tells his pet, his voice smooth.  “All-Father’s side, because that is who I am now, if you hadn't noticed.”  He allows himself a faint smirk, thinking of how well his plans have proceeded so far.

His pet, however, rather than being impressed, is now staring at the bed.  “This is a shrine, isn’t it?” he says softly.  “A shrine to…”  He stops, his face going very serious.  “Oh god Loki, I’m sorry.”

Presumptuous mortal, who dares feel sorry for a god.  “I don’t need your pity,” Loki tells him.

At the very same moment, his pet says to him, “Is this some kind of trick to make me feel sorry for you?  It won’t work.  I want to go home...”

If anyone were to ask why Loki’s new mortal spends his first night in Asgard, closed up in the dungeon, here it is right here.  It’s not the pity, lord knows, a god should be above such petty sensitivities.   _But Stark just can’t seem to stop talking._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “[Intro]  
> Ha-Ha! Well now, we call this the act of mating.  
> But there are several other very important differences  
> Between human beings and animals that you should know about.
> 
> I'd appreciate your input
> 
> [Verse 1]  
> Sweat baby, sweat baby, sex is a Texas drought,  
> Me and you do the kind of stuff that only Prince would sing about.  
> So put your hands down my pants, and I'll bet you'll feel nuts.  
> Yes, I'm Siskel, yes, I'm Ebert and you're getting two thumbs up.  
> You've had enough of two-hand touch, you want it rough, you're out of bounds.  
> I want you smothered, want you covered, like my Waffle House hash browns.  
> Come quicker than FedEx, never reach an apex, just like Coca-Cola stock, you are inclined,  
> To make me rise an hour early, just like Daylight Savings Time.
> 
> [Chorus]  
> Do it now!  
> You and me, baby, ain't nothing but mammals,  
> So, let's do it like they do on the Discovery Channel.  
> Do it again now!  
> You and me, baby, ain't nothing but mammals,  
> So, let's do it like they do on the Discovery Channel.  
> Getting horny now!”  
> \-- Bloodhound Gang, “The Bad Touch”

Trapped in the dungeon in the dark for twelve hours, Tony mostly thinks about Pepper.  You think this is surprising?  He thinks about her _all the time_.  Their break-up barely just happened, everywhere he goes, and everything he does, he is constantly being assailed by memories of Pepper.  It’s bedtime:  Where’s her warm body, that should be snuggled against his?  Where’s the voice, nagging him to put his StarkPad away and get some sleep, “It’s four AM for god’s sake, Tony”?  Where is she when she should be forcing him to eat a gluten-free waffle in the morning, instead of making do with Red Bull and chlorophyll shots, until whenever he remembers that he’s hungry?    And when he’s locked up in a super-villain’s prison, a million miles from home, where is that warm presence, that sensible voice, that should be there, so he can steady himself and think clearly about what to do next?

Answer:  She’s not here.  And the corollary to that answer:  He feels the lack of her here with every fiber of his body, and every thought he has is colored by her not being here, it’s like, “I HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE. -- Oh, Pepper! -- HOW CAN I GET OUT OF HERE? -- I miss Pepper. -- DOES THAT DOOR WORK?  DUH, NO… -- PepperPepperPepper. -- ...OF COURSE NOT, IT’S LOCKED, WHAT THE HELL DO I DO NOW? -- Jesus Christ, Pepper, where are you, why can’t you be here, when I need you _so much_???”

It’s a tiring process.  Thinking _plus_ pain usually is.  After awhile, Tony is tired out completely.  He subsides, sinking down to sit against a cold stone wall, and stare hard at another stone wall opposite, about fifteen feet away.  “This is counting against Loki,” that’s the only coherent thought left in his head.  “I was being patient with him before, because Thor told us he’s crazy, but not anymore, _not anymore_.  Next time, I fight.”

Tony’s going to fight.  He decides this, then he’s immediately assailed by feelings of doubt and hopelessness.  He’s going to fight…   _With what_?  How will he make a dent against an Asgardian, who can basically pick him up like he’s a piece of paper?  And even if he did get away, what happens next?  He’s still on an alien planet, millions of miles from home, he’s still surrounded by people who think he’s basically a farm animal, and he doesn’t have Thor, he doesn’t have the Avengers, he doesn’t have his suits ( _he doesn’t have Pepper_ ).  Tony’s basically doomed, he’s fucked up the ass this way and sideways, and it would have been better if Obie had killed him that night on the roof of the Stark building, or if Vanko had managed to take him out that time in Monte Carlo.  All this hopelessness is there, and it exhausts him, and he finally goes to sleep, but when he does, he’s holding a piece of stick he found, that might serve as a spear, and a wooden tray that was lying over in one corner, which isn’t quite unlike a shield of sorts, if you don’t look too closely.

__________________________

Meanwhile, the hours go by.  Four or five hours, that Loki spends being Odin, at dinner, and after dinner, with various random assorted Asgardians, then the eight hours that he spends sleeping, and the three or four more hours in the morning, that are bath-time, breakfast-time, and the time he always devotes to sword-practice, in case he has to deal with any would-be assassins.  Loki is very busy upstairs, in the main part of the palace.  He doesn’t give a thought to his pet the whole time; disobedient pets should be locked up somewhere for a few hours, it helps them learn to behave better.

Finally, he goes downstairs.  He opens the door of the dungeon, and is charmed to see his pet mortal curled up asleep in a corner, his head pillowed on one outstretched arm.  He smiles, allows himself a moment just to enjoy the cuteness of his sleeping pet.  Then he wills the smile away.  His pet is still being trained, and does not yet deserve such kindness from his master.

“Stark…”  Despite resolutions, Loki’s hand is gentle, as he touches his sleeping pet on the shoulder.  “Wake up, Stark.”

The mortal sits up, instantly on the alert.  “Pepper?”  The word comes out as a plaintive yelp.

This “Pepper” is Stark’s woman.  Loki knows this from remarks the Thunderer has dropped now and then, in passing.  His pet is sad, pining for her.  A pity Loki cannot bring her here and make him happy, but then they’d breed, and soon the palace would be overrun.  Something will have to be done, though, some recourse offered, to take this “Pepper’s” place.  Perhaps one of the serving-woman can be persuaded to lower herself and service the mortal, or perhaps he will have to resort to having him spayed.

There is another thought in the pretend All-Father’s mind, however.  It is a lewd thought, and one completely inappropriate for one of his stature.  Perhaps he…  But no.  With a _mortal_?  Perhaps he could… it would be kindness, and it would make Stark more tractable…

This would not be the first time that Loki has looked beneath him, in his choice of partners.  He has been with a horse, albeit, it was an Asgardian horse, and then there was the giantess Sigyn.  Sometimes he still misses Sigyn, who was a good helpmeet, apart from her unfortunate background.  Has he ever been with something as low as a mortal before, though?  The answer, of course, is no, and the Lord of all Asgard tells himself that he will save this idea he’s had, and use it only as a very last resort.

All this goes through Loki’s mind very rapidly.  He notices his pet’s unhappiness, then the rather impressive morning erection, swelling his Midgardian trousers, and then he’s moving on.  He has to, because Stark immediately tries to attack him.

“You would?”  One swipe knocks the small stick from his hand, another sends his pathetic “shield” flying to the furthest corner of the dungeon.  “You would attack me?  How dare you, Stark?”

“How dare you lock me up down here?”  Now Stark’s going at him with his fists, blows that carry a fair amount of strength, for a mortal’s.  “You kidnapped me, and you brought me to Asgard, why, Loki, why?”

Loki imprisons the mortal’s flying fists with one hand, he uses the other to hold him back, in case he should try to bite.  Why, indeed?  How can you be so ungrateful, Stark?  Did I not allow you sight of what you mortals call ‘the Einstein-Rosen bridge’?”

“Yeah…  Stark tries to kick him, and Loki has to sit on top of him to make him stay still.  “Goddammit, Loki!”  The mortal struggles, but cannot get free.

There is an echo here, and Loki is quite aware of it:  How many times has the Thunderer immobilized him similarly, with the power of the hammer Mjolnir?  And how amusing this time, to be the one doing the immobilizing.    Somewhere at the very extreme back of Loki’s mind, there is a question:  Do all relationships always have to rest on these unequal power dynamics?

The follow-up question here, of course, would be:  Is there no such thing as true love?  To get there though, Loki would first have to acknowledge the first question, which he doesn’t, it hits far too close to home.  Instead, he is just amused at his pet’s fruitless struggles.

‘“If you behave yourself, Stark…”  The mortal still has an erection.  Loki can feel it underneath him, it feels very large.  Maybe it won’t be so difficult finding a serving-woman who will lay with him after all.  Or he could… maybe… but with a complete loss of dignity…

“Behave yourself, and you will be allowed back into the palace,” Loki tells his pet, who’s shirt has also ridden up, showing an expanse of very well-muscled stomach.  Would it really be so very terrible if an Asgardian were to…  But yes, of course it would be, think how he viewed Thor, after he found out about the Foster woman.

“You will learn to behave,” Loki tells his pet.

“Like hell I will,” Stark says, and so he naturally has to stay in the dungeon another day.  Loki has one of the servants take him some bread and water, after a few hours.  And a chamber pot, so he can take care of his mortal business.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter where I explain why I'm on hiatus. AO3, please don't take this down, even though it's not very fanfiction-y. I'm not trying to get away with something, I'm just very long-winded when I explain stuff.

Fanfiction doesn’t feel right to me right now.  I just buried my mom a month ago. You remember the scene from Civil War, where Steve says good-bye to Peggy?  She’s got Alzheimer’s, but she conveniently has a lucid moment, so she can talk to him, and they can connect. And she still looks so beautiful.  Reality for my mom wasn’t anything like that.

My mom’s mind was still clear when she passed of ovarian cancer, right before Valentine’s Day.  But we barely even got her to a hospital bed, and there was no peaceful rest for her when she was there.  I was with her the weekend before she went. She was like this little bag of bones, sitting precariously in an upright chair.  We knew she was getting ready to go, but we had no idea how close the end was. She couldn’t sleep? Well, she’d been unable to sleep before, we’d always just taken her in to the ER for treatment, and she’d gone on.  Her back hurt? Same, that was also a common symptom. And, ditto-ditto for not being able to eat, and everything else.

Here’s how much of a surprise it was for me:  I went home two days before she died. Because I just didn’t have a clue.  My sister took my mom to the ER, as per all the other times. Then I stayed overnight with my dad, who’s 90, and suffering from dementia.  The next day I took him in so he could see her, and then I went home, after asking everybody to send me updates on how she was doing. Here’s what happened:  The next day a friend of my mom’s told me, “You’d better go in right now, so you can say good-bye to her.” I got on the road, and about an hour later my sister called me and told me she was gone.

I’d gone one hour, on a four-hour drive.  There I was, sitting in the parking lot at a truck stop, and tryingto understand what I’d just heard.  So many what-ifs, so many coincidences. How do you wrap your head around the fact that  _ you left your mom, a day before she died _ ?  I had so many good reasons for going home.  Right now they don’t feel like they mattered, but it’s not like I can go back, it’s not like I can change the past

It’s hard to get into the head-space of people who seem to always get to say good-bye.  It’s hard to get into a universe where people’s illnesses sort of go away, to give them good-byes with the people they love, where people can be almost at the edge of death, and they still look lovely.  I think about my mom, how she was at the end, how she looked so tiny… You know I did the last of her laundry while I was down for the memorial service? My mom fought her weight her whole life. She was naturally about a size twelve, in American sizes, which is about a 14, or an XL, in Europe.  Her clothes from right before she went were Size 6 or 8’s, and she’d put this clip-thing in the back of the pair of jeans she wore to go to the hospital so they wouldn’t fall down. All this extra fabric nipped in… Gods, she was tiny.

So there’s one thing that’s getting in my way of continuing my stories.  Everything that happened with my mom is still so new, and it’s so un-Hollywood, so against all the conventions of fanfiction, even for a writer like me, who ignores a lot of the conventions.

Here’s the other reason:

Because I could write one-shots.  I’ve dealt with grief before, I’ve dealt with family issues, there’s still a lot more that I want to say.

But fanfiction is a neat-and-tiny kind of a genre.  Things follow a certain course, they end a certain way…

That’s not what I need to say.  The reason I’m not writing fanfiction right now is that fanfic characters are beautiful.  They fit into certain set roles, you need to like the heroes, and you can’t possibly like the villains…

No, that’s not it either.  The part about the heroes, yeah.  You have to like the heroes in fanfic.  You might not always agree with them, but you don’t like them, you’re probably not going to finish the story.  But I have written likeable villains. The thing with the villains is they have to have dignity. Even Moleman has dignity, and look at Dr. Doom (a personal favorite):  The only time he loses his dignity is when he’s defeated by Squirrel Girl, and that’s a one-shot. Right now I’m living in a world where there aren’t any heroes or any villains, and practically none of us have much dignity left.

This is my world right now:  I missed saying good-bye to my mom because of a stupid error.  I have a dad who’s pretty much incompetent. He’d been diagnosed with dementia before my mom passed, but she helped him hide the extent of it.  My sister’s staying with him, and every day, practically, she sends us all new information about some more of his craziness. How do you write about something like that in a fanfic format?  Who is there who I could even put in such a situation? For that matter, who is there in the MCU canon who’s dad stays around long enough for it to be an issue?

Frankly, I wouldn’t mind being Tony Stark right now, whose abusive dad died when he was still in college.  My dad… Well, let’s just say there are reasons I’m not very close to him.

But, moving on:  Let me finish this, I can’t get into the headspace to write tragedy, because all the sad things in my life right now have this huge over-layer of ridiculousness.  I can’t write heroes and villains, because there aren’t really any of either in my own life, for me to use as inspiration. I can’t write escapism, because I can’t escape, everything is still going on in my life.  My dad’s tyrannizing over my sister, who stupidly made a promise to stay with him until he dies, and now she can’t find a way to get out of it.

I think a lot of people on here are fairly young.  Take my advice; Never move into an aged parents’ house to take care of them.  And if you do, for god’s sake don’t make any promises about how long you’ll stay.  My dad jerks my sister around right and left. She can’t leave him alone, and he won’t agree to let anyone else come in to take care of him, so she can have a break.  She can’t get him declared mentally incapable, because… I really don’t know how incapable you need to be to get declared incapable. My dad had this evaluation: He told the evaluators it was 1998.   _ And he passed _ .  Jesus god!  And my sister is basically stuck, as long as she’s there, my dad has zero incentive to move anywhere, or get any caregiver from outside the family.  My mom basically took care of him his whole life, and now he’s expecting my sister to do the same.

Anyway, that’s my life right now, that’s why I’m not updating/writing any new stories.  I want to, so badly, I can just feel the writing-itch building up in my fingers, that craving, to just open up a document and  _ get going _ .  But I have no stories right now, that anyone would want to read.

I would never put Tony into the position of, say, my dad (even though they’re both tech-addicted and selfish).  I can’t put because he died too young, about my age, instead of 90+. I can’t see any character parallels that work as the basis for a story, and I am weak on plotting, which makes original fiction a challenge.

If I could wave a magic wand right now, I’d create a magical little space in my life, where everything was back to status quo ante bellum (or ante the craziness that is my life right now).  Then I’d go inside that nice little place, and I’d write and I’d write and I’d write. I would come out of there all rested and refreshed, and I’d be better at solving the problems in my real life, I always make better decisions when I’m rested and relaxed.

But I can’t.  Nothing is ever going to be like it was before my mom died.  Ever.

Someday I’ll be back, I hope, or who knows, maybe I’ll magically learn how to plot, and I’ll write a novel and make a jillion dollars, wouldn’t that be cool?  For now, I’m on hiatus.


End file.
